Try Again
by Kyon Emerald
Summary: In which Mello develops an eating disorder and is led to face what he believes to be a dead end, but turns out to be a fresh start.
1. I'm Hurting

Mello liked chocolate.  
That was no secret - in fact, very few things about Mello weren't common knowledge in Wammy's. He was, had always been, an "open book", so to speak. And he, like Near, had an actual chance of becoming L one day (heck, he had even _met _the man). So one doesn't have to be a genius to know that Mello was well known around the institution.  
That, however, was never the same as being well liked.  
With his fiery temper and air of superiority, the number of children who did like him was not very large at all. Mello was painfully aware of that.

But, back to chocolate, it was really good.  
It could sooth his anger and melt away his sadness and on the rare occasion that he was in a light mood - or even, dared he say, in a _good _mood, it could still make everything feel impossibly better.  
Mello liked chocolate. He'd never thought too much about it.  
Not until _that _happened.

"A physical exam is coming up just next week, Mello." a random kid, a boy, said out of the blue.  
Mello continued to munch on his chocolate like he hadn't even heard anything, not bothering to look up.  
"We'll all get weighed, y'know," another one called.  
"Your point being?" He inquired, without a care in the world about how he looked speaking with his mouth full.  
"Well, I'd watch my fat intake if I were _you_."  
He finally looked up then, only to find out that every kid in the common room was staring at them. Suddenly, he felt self conscious.  
He had been sitting alone, waiting for Matt to show up, just ignoring the others. Like usual. And now they were all looking at him, watching him. Waiting for his comeback.  
By way the boys who approached him were smirking, arms crossed, baggy pants and shirts two sizes two small, it was clear that they liked messing around. There was absolutely no reason to take them seriously. Right?

"Fuck off," he shrugged, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing they'd gotten to him.  
But he set the chocolate bar down on the small wooden table and refrained from swallowing until he was sure no one was watching anymore.  
He could hardly move without feeling all eyes on him, which was simply ridiculous, but still.

* * *

Mello started watching his weight, just in case. And he saw it go up slowly, month after month.  
He wasn't fat, was he?  
Well, not that it would matter - it shouldn't.  
Of course he didn't like feeling self conscious nearly all the time. He didn't like fearing that someone might start the name-calling (he knew that, once it started it was never over, if Near being called a sheep to this day meant something). He didn't like wondering if he looked pregnant (he was mistaken for a girl often enough to know it wasn't too unlikely, especially if he continued to put on pound after pound like this - and the lack of mirrors in Wammy's didn't help either).  
And it's not like he _couldn't_ lose weight, if he wanted to.  
He wasn't _fat_, was he?  
Either way, losing a couple of pounds wouldn't hurt.

* * *

"Matt, do you think that maybe I should eat less chocolate?"  
He didn't know why he asked that.  
They were just hanging out in Matt's room, Mello laying on his stomach on his redheaded friend's bed while said redhead sat comfortably on the floor, playing God knows what on his DS.  
Mello was just thinking, wondering, when the words came floating out of his mouth. It wasn't the first time Mello said something impulsively, but he couldn't remember ever regretting saying something more than he did now.  
Matt apparently hit the pause button to look up at him. Well, that was first.

Mello jumped to his feet and lifted his chin at his friend's obvious bewilderment.  
"What, you don't think I can?"  
"That's not it," he was quick to assure, "It's just... Why would you even want to, Mels?"  
"To try it out." His voice faltered and he internally cursed, unconsciously lifting his chin higher.  
"Try it-" Matt shook his head, disbelieving, "Are you even listening to yourself?  
"I'm not as weak as you think," he said coldly, "I can do it. You'll see."  
"Geez, Mello! What in the world got you so defensive? I'm your friend here, remember?"  
"Whatever."  
He turned around and stormed out of the room. And maybe it wasn't just out of anger. Maybe it had something to do with the tears threatening to fall from his eyes that he definitely could not let Matt see.

**A/N:** Let me know if you liked it at all. Please?


	2. I'm Pathetic

Of course he ended up locked away in his room. Hiding.  
Hiding from Matt, from his problems, concerns, feelings, _fears_. Just hiding.  
Mello was alone, shoving countless bars of chocolate down his throat, leaving wrappers everywhere, making his room almost as much of a mess as his head was.

And when he was done at last, he slipped to the small bathroom to escape the mess he had created.  
It was so white.  
His mind was filled with images of the children staring at him, of Matt's incredulous look, of Near's face twisted in imaginary smugness (what would he even say if he saw Mello in such a pitiful state?) and, lastly, of the numbers going subtly up everytime he stepped on the scale.  
He could hear mocking laughter as he crouched next to the toilet, one arm wrapped around it like a dear friend.

His free hand covered his mouth.  
Uncertainly, he opened it up, sliding a finger in to poke at his throat. Uncomfortable. Then two. He gagged. Then three. He coughed, pulling his fingers out instinctively.  
Mello tried again, only two fingers this time. He stroked his throat clumsily, paying no mind to the sickening gag sounds he made, moving his dry fingers with some difficulty until they were wet and slippery.  
_God_, he was so disgusting. What was he even _doing_? His mind told him to stop, but he didn't. He couldn't.  
Mello kept at it for what felt like forever before _finally_-

It hurt - his legs were shaking, threatening to give out, his throat was on fire and it was all just so painful.  
Mello was hurting, inside and out. It felt right. It felt good.

Before he knew it, he was laying on his back on the cold bathroom floor.  
He vaguely remembered feeling pitiful and disgusting, a semi-argument with Matt and a messy room. But everything was on the other side of that white door, and he didn't have to think about it, not right now.  
Mello focused on calming his breath and heartbeat - he was worn out and numb and it was so easy to believe that nothing mattered anymore. So _tempting_. It felt so good and he was never ever going to do it again.  
Just this one time, he let himself enjoy the feeling. Just once.

* * *

"Are you okay?"  
"Hm? Oh, yes."  
Matt nodded slowly, "You seem out of it these past few days."  
"I'm fine," Mello sighed, "Just distracted."

"Do you realize it's the fourth time you've said that today?"  
"What, are you counting?"  
Mello shifted to his side to get a better view of the boy on the floor. He seemed worried and that was not good news. Mello needed to get the focus of the conversation on something else, if only to stop Matt from prying too much into his business.  
There had never been a need to hide anything from the redhead before, he suddenly noticed.

Mello pushed the guilt to the bottom of his mind and lied to his best friend, sighing like he had given up on keeping any secrets from the gamer, "You know we have a big test next week, right?"  
Matt blinked and laughed softly as relief washed over him. He had worried over nothing.  
"Actually, I had kinda forgotten about that."

"Of course you had," Mello rolled his eyes, "Moron."  
Matt sprawled out on the floor, DS laying on his stomach for the time being, relaxed, "Sorry for prying. I was just worried, y'know"  
"Y-yeah, I know."  
"What's that, a blush?"  
"Shut the fuck up!"

Matt was laughing full force now, and Mello felt a lot less guilty as he chased after Matt in the small bedroom, shouting out threats of breaking his bones _and _his DS although both of them knew he wasn't really mad at the accusation.  
His friend was relieved and happy and it was not like there was even anything he had to be worried about in the first place. What harm could it bring?

Deep down, Mello knew that if Matt ever found out about his lie, he would be hurt. And he knew that if there was really nothing to worry about, he would never have lied to begin with. He knew that it hadn't been a one-time thing. Not the lying, and not whatever had happened in the bathroom, either.  
He wasn't just fooling Matt, but also trying to fool himself. He knew that, but in the midst of playful laughter and empty threats, it was _so_ easy to pretend he didn't.

* * *

Mello was in the library. He felt that if he did study for the upcoming test, his lie would be less of a lie.  
It was stupid, like many of the feelings and thoughts he was having lately, but he acted on it anyway.  
At least, he intended to. But it somehow went from studying History to studying Psychology - Eating Disorders, to be me more specific.  
And when the books didn't suffice, Mello decided on an online research.

He had promised to stop by Matt's room when he was done, but instead he went back to his own room with a list of _Pro Mia Tips and Tricks_.

**A/N:** Yesterday was my aunt's birthday, I am _so_ gonna learn Weekender Girl's choreography and I had a fight with my mom.  
Believe it or not, it's all related. Can you guess how?  
Now, let me tell you some random things about this chapter.  
Originally, Mello would come down with a cold, the chasing scene was not there, Mello wouldn't admit to himself that he _was _gonna purge again and the online research was also a last-minute idea, although now it's crucial for the climax.  
Tell me if you liked it at all?


	3. I'm Confused

Tickling was awesome.  
The rainy weather was keeping Wammy's children indoors and Mello was just _so_ bored, though even in sunny days he wasn't much of an outdoors person - not anymore, anyway.  
But that was irrelevant, he would argue. The rain sounds were boring.  
Chasing Matt around was slightly less entertaining now that he had slightly less stamina, but tickling was awesome.  
His left foot was kept hostage by Matt's thighs and mercilessly assaulted by the aforementioned's hands.

"Stop!" he cried halfheartedly in-between pants.  
"I wouldn't waste my breath like that if I were _you_." Matt said in mock-malice.  
But that brought Mello back to a painful memory and suddenly, it felt like Matt had been mocking him all that time, pretending to like him.  
It was a ridiculous, absurd thought.  
Until Matt's hands traveled to his stomach - was that a hint?

Mello pushed his best friend off of him forcefully.  
Tickling wasn't so awesome anymore. Now his every thought was filled with doubt.  
"I'd watch my fat intake if I were _you_." the words echoed in his mind, over and over and _over_ again.  
Since when did boys even care about that?  
He must've been really fat if it called their attention.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled to the voices in his head, barely taking in Matt's shocked face before he ran away, just like he always did.

* * *

He already knew it was a ritual. His face was blank as he rushed through the hallways. He needed to get to his room.

_Drink lots of water when bingeing.  
Liquids are easier to purge.  
Sugary and spicy foods/drinks hurt more.  
Keep a faucet running.  
__Take your clothes off so you don't stain anything valuable.  
__Take a shower afterwards to make sure there's no vomit on your hair.  
Brush your teeth when you're done._

As his bare back made contact with the white tiles, he sighed.  
Pro Mia Tips and Tricks were awesome.  
His throat was burning, and the sensation was more than welcome.  
Mello was relieved, happy, _high_.

He turned on the hot water - he felt exhausted, like he had just dealt with all his problems at once.  
And, in a way, he had.  
Once more, Mello fell asleep staring at the locked bathroom door like it was hiding his personal hell.  
And, in a way, it was.

* * *

Arguments seemed to have became a constant part of their friendship.  
But those weren't so bad if compared to the times Mello would shout out an unneeded apology and just go away - no fight, no curses, no _nothing_, leaving Matt in the dark.

"I know something's up, Mello," he said in the softest voice Mello had ever heard him use, as if he was afraid a harsher tone would scare him away.  
Since when did Matt see him as fragile?  
Mello looked down to his feet, throat itching. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.  
Instead, a painfully high-pitched squeak escaped. A cry of desperation.

Matt pulled him into a loose hug.  
"I know I have no right to want to know everything that happens in your life. You want your space, I get it. Just- Promise me one thing, Mels," he could feel Matt's hug tighten slightly with every small break he took. Like he was scared Mello would slip away if he didn't hold him tight enough.

"Anything," Mello managed to breath out and in that moment, he truly believed he would do anything for the boy whose arms were clumsily trying to hold him together, not knowing he was long since broken.  
"No drugs." now Matt's grip on him was almost painful. He didn't care. But he didn't understand, either, "You're starting to act like my father."  
It all clicked into place. Mello hugged back and promised _no drugs_.

It's funny how it started out as a normal day, Mello thought. Funny how he never expected this to happen when he walked into the room.  
It should have been like any other day...  
When did they start crying?  
Why was Matt crying?

He had all right to want to know what was going on in Mello's life - he was his best friend. His only friend.  
And Mello had been lying to him, snapping at him, treating him in a way that reminded him of his addict of a father, of the painful past he wanted to forget.  
Not only did Matt put up with him, but he also _cared_. And Mello had been doing nothing but hurt him.  
He didn't want Matt to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Matt. I don't know what's wrong. I'm not sure of anything anymore. I'm so sorry."  
He rambled on, because he needed to get it out. Matt most likely wasn't listening, but it didn't matter.

He was the one who was supposed to suffer. Not Matt.

**A/N: **My stomach hurts, I can sing Childish War (rachie VS JubyPhonic) and guess who caught the flu?  
Well, well. I'm trying to pass on how clouded Mello's mind is right now.  
Ah~ The paranoia that comes along with EDs (to most people, anyways). S'it weird that I find it refreshing to write?  
Probably, since that's not a memory I'm fond of.  
Tell me if you liked it at all?


	4. I'm Falling

Mello knew what he was doing. He knew what it was called, what it meant.  
But he honestly saw no reason to stop.  
More like, he honestly ignored any.

There had been no fighting for a while and it did seem like everything was fine.  
Matt had quickly gotten used to lazing around instead of running around. He would play his games and Mello would think, both unwilling to break the comfortable and undoubtedly fragile peace.  
Occasional small talk would happen, but besides that, their days were silent.  
The one thing that assured Matt it was ok, though, was the physical contact.

With no sort of warning, Mello would pull him into quick hugs or peck his cheeks shyly. He'd hold his hand as they walked to classes and just generally touch him, almost like he was trying to make sure Matt was really there.  
At first it was terribly awkward, and it was unclear when or why they became used to it, but eventually they did.  
And as their new enrollment fell into place, it was only natural to forget how things used to be or question why they changed.

Matt only concerned himself with here and now. And, here and now, he felt funny when Mello touched him.  
In fact, he didn't even have to be touched by the blond to feel it - his cheeks heated up and his insides felt like slowly melting ice cream just by thinking of his friend, which he seemed to do a lot more recently.  
He'd lay on his bed at night, staring at ceiling and wondering what Mello was doing.

* * *

Mello's days with Matt were torturous.  
He wanted to touch him all the time and containing those urges was getting more and more difficult each day.  
He felt fragile, exposed and alone. Mello needed a rock, and he knew it could only be Matt, no one else.  
But he didn't want to feel that way.

He didn't want to _need_ Matt, to impose that on him.  
Mello knew Matt would be better off without him, but he couldn't give his one friend up. He was so selfish.  
And Matt was so selfless, allowing Mello to do what he needed to do.

Daytime was hell. He'd hang out with Matt and try to pretend it was ok, try to ignore his feelings and the fear that Matt would finally realise what a terrible person he was and leave him all alone to deal with himself at any given moment.  
But then finally nighttime would come, and they'd part ways.

The relief, however, only lasted a few minutes before Mello realized he couldn't reach for Matt's hand because _no one was there_.  
His throat started itching then, and the chocolate drawers seemed to be the only thing is his field of vision. And they were mocking him.  
Just like those kids in the common room. Just like everyone else.  
_If he wasn't such a piggie_...

* * *

It was obvious something was terribly wrong. Obvious to everyone else, but not to him.  
Matt knew Mello was in a bubble, like he was existing in an alternative reality. And he knew that, for a while, he had been in that bubble with him.  
But he didn't know how to pop the bubble. He didn't know what was wrong and maybe Mello didn't know either.  
Maybe Mello was just fooling himself, like he had initially fooled Matt.

Mello had changed. And Matt wished he could go back in time and stop it from happening. Or, if he could do nothing else, just enjoy the simpler days more.  
He wanted his Mello back. The Mello he had fallen in love with.  
He wanted everything to be fine. But he could fix nothing.  
That sense of hopelessness was crushingly powerful, and being with Mello wasn't getting any easier.  
He had to measure his words and actions - don't talk about chocolate or weight or the way Mello had changed. Don't touch his stomach, or waist, or thighs.

Matt didn't know how he ended up in the library, researching eating disorders.  
That couldn't be it, right?  
Mello looked healthy - yeah, sure, he had lost some weight, but he was eating less chocolate, so that was to be expected, right?  
_Why was he eating less chocolate?_  
Matt sighed. His friend didn't have an eating disorder. Did he?

* * *

Math class was _so_ boring.  
Where was Matt, anyways? He didn't know.  
His blood felt like cold water and his hands were sweating. But he was holding it together. Matt would be there soon. Wouldn't he?  
The teacher was making that smug expression that could only mean no one had volunteered to solve the question.  
It was probably boring rather than too difficult.

She was looking at him.  
Oh, no, he thought. Not now._  
_"Mello?," she asked expectantly. He could see Near staring at him, seated not too far away.  
He glanced at the whiteboard - he'd been right, of course. It was a simple logarithmic equation. Boring.

It was probably better to get it done and over with at once. Mello quickly stood up - too fast.  
His mouth opened to say the answer, but the words wouldn't form.  
The room was spinning, his hands were numb. It was so hard to ignore. Did he seem fine? He didn't feel fine.

The last thing he saw were Near's lips moving. He was twirling a lock of hair around his finger, looking elsewhere (at the teacher?). It took Mello a few second to understand what the boy had said.  
_Call the ambulance_.

**A/N: **I'm addicted to chewgum, my mom apparently likes to pretend she's a teenager and who needs birthdays anyways?  
So my mom texted me at around 10pm, asking if I was awake. I wasn't.  
And she has yet to come back from her night out. Oh, I am so gonna give her hell for that.  
Mello is literally falling. Oh well.  
Tell me if you liked it at all?


	5. I'm Leaving

Matt was staring at the book in front of him when it happened.  
A girl who couldn't be any older than himself called his name between pants, demanding his attention.  
He had a bad feeling about this.  
"Who sent you here?," he asked, trying to delay something, though he was not sure exactly what.

"Near told me to get you," she said after recovering her breath, "It's Mello."  
Of course, he thought. It couldn't be anything else.  
He didn't ask. He didn't want to know.  
But she told him, "Mello's in the hospital."  
He wanted this to be a dream. But it wasn't, and Mello needed him.

His mind wandered as he ran alongside the girl, as he ran to Mello's side. His chest felt tight at the thought of his friend, who once upon a time had been so easy to read. There used to be nothing they couldn't tell each other. _Where had it all gone wrong? _

Why couldn't Mello just go to his room, kick him out of his bed and just tell him every thought that crossed his mind like he always had?  
_Mello_, the name repeated itself on his mind with every heartbeat.

The hallways were longer, and empty. The usually lively orphanage was quiet.  
Or maybe the hallways weren't really any different, maybe there were people there, maybe it wasn't so quiet. Maybe Matt just saw it that way, because Mello was laying on a hospital bed somewhere - the same boy who was on his bed just yesterday, and things couldn't be like any other day. They just couldn't.

* * *

Fragile.  
It was all so fragile.  
His peaceful days with Matt were fragile, his confidence was fragile. Mello himself was fragile, and so were his secrets and lies.  
And the fragile things had cracked all at once.

They knew. The word was being repeated so often that Mello felt it might as well have been marked upon his skin, "Bulimic".  
Could everyone tell now, with nothing more than a quick look?  
It certainly felt that way.

_That's right_, he wanted to say to every person who passed by, _I shove my fingers down my throat to make myself throw up when I'm alone, at night. You would do it too if you were disgusting like me.  
_But he said nothing, he could say nothing, because he was so tired and his throat hurt and he was probably too hoarse to be comprehended.  
So he closed his eyes and ignored them instead.

Mello wished he could go back to Wammy's and escape to his room. He wished he had passed out there, alone, where no one could find him.  
Who cared if he died young? He was never gonna be L anyways. Never gonna beat Near...  
It didn't matter - Mello didn't matter. There was no reason to stop.

But then someone called his name, and that voice could only belong to one person.  
Mello started to cry, because he would always matter to Matt. How could he have forgotten that?  
Matt should just leave, because Mello didn't, would never deserve his friendship. But he was still there, holding his hand and whispering meaningless comforting words.

Not even for a second did Mello believe it was gonna be alright, but Matt's hand was warm and his voice was caring, and that was enough.

Even when his friend left, Mello was left with a sense of peacefulness that lasted throughout the night.  
When the morning came, he was scared.  
Doctors had no reason to keep secrets. They would hear of this. Roger, Watari, L...  
That was it. He was gonna get kicked out of Wammy's House.

Roger came later that day to announce he was being sent off to a _rehabilitation clinic_.  
It took him a moment to notice the small boy hiding behind Roger.  
As if realising he had been seen, Near stepped forward, "This is a second chance, Mello," he said.

"How is being sent away a fucking second chance?," he asked, though his voice wasn't louder than a whisper.  
Near turned to Roger, requesting that the old man leave the room so he could talk to Mello privately.  
Once he complied, Near turned back to him.  
"It was L's request, Mello. L thinks you can heal. So does Matt. And... I believe so, as well."  
Mello shook his head. That wasn't possible.  
"Don't be stubborn," Near sighed quietly, "Rather than giving up, Mello should try again."

"Get out,"came his reply. He needed to think. Near nodded and left.  
_Try again, uh? _  
And it did seem like a good idea.

* * *

It was weird, seeing all his things packaged. It really did feel like he was getting kicked out.  
But he shook the feeling away.  
For all Matt knew, Mello was enthusiastic about spending some time away, about healing.

He was still not too sure he could do it. But he would give it a try.  
Near looked at him like he could see right through his façade, and Mello didn't doubt he could.  
He sent a last glare in the white haired boy's direction and was tightly hugged by Matt - a hug that couldn't possibly have lasted long enough.  
And then Mello was off to an unknown destination.

The cab smelled funny. It was cold and Mello was shivering slightly, bracing himself and wondering what to expect.

**A/N: **I almost didn't make it. *Phew*  
"Try Again" was originally a one shot I wrote out during math class. That's why the chapters are short.  
And that one shot ended with Mello's willingness to try to get better. "And it did seem like a good idea" was the last phrase, no more.  
I was thinking I could post the original as a bonus chapter, along with the last chapter and the epilogue.  
But it had a weird format so I'm not sure I'll do it - it started out fine, then leaped to rehab, then back to the hospital scene... But enough rambling!  
Thank you guys so much for reading this!  
Tell me if you liked it at all?


	6. I'm Trying

It really was just impossible.  
What had he been thinking? That he, Mello, could _get better?_  
Near's words spinned in his head - try again. What did Near know?  
Mello shook his head. No. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't picture himself being happy and all of the things that taunted him simply not mattering anymore.

For some reason, a part of him had thought that he could go to sleep and wake up to find it had all been a dream. That was a sweet, sweet illusion and nothing more.  
In the end, he'd just have to try harder to convince others he was fine, and no one would care what happened between closed doors or in the back of his disturbed mind.

And so he ate, followed the rules and lied in therapy - he'd be out in no time.  
It felt like he was just watching the days go by. No other patients talked to him, and that was probably for the best.  
But deep down Mello hoped that something would happen. That something would change.  
Because he felt like an empty shell. And because he _wanted_ to get better.

He was in his room as usual, staring out the window. It was a beautiful sunny day and he vaguely remembered dragging Matt out on a day like this, though it felt like he had been a completely different person at that time.  
A soft knock on the door brought him back to reality and before he could answer, the door was opened to reveal a beautiful nurse.  
No matter how many times Mello saw her, she never seemed to fit in that place - white skin and black hair tied up loosely, green eyes and red lips and a contagious simile that made her seem like she had never had a bad day in her whole life.

"You have a phone call, Mello" she announced and he was once again mesmerized that she remembered his name.  
He nodded and got up wordlessly.  
And as he followed her through the unfamiliar hallways, he felt as though he was being led to a different world.  
When the walk ended, however, he was shown to a small room with a single telephone sitting on a glass table and told he had fifteen minutes.

Mello felt that the chair would break under his weight.  
Shifting uncomfortably, he took a deep breath and picked up the phone with a feeble greeting.  
"It's Matt," he heard, "I'm not supposed to be calling you. Near helped out," it was said quickly, and Mello was barely given any time to process that information before his friend went on, "I heard you're doing fine, and I think that's bullshit. You looked fine all this time while..." he sighed and trailed off.

Mello's grip on the phone tightened. He said nothing.  
"Anyway," Matt started again, as if remembering he didn't have all the time in the world, "You know how I'm always playing games right?," without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Well, sometimes you lose and that's a game over, and," he took a brief pause for air, "This situation you're in, it probably feels like a game over."

"It does," Mello said, if only to give Matt some sort of response.  
"I knew it," Mello could imagine his friend nodding and smiling goofily to himself as he said this, "Well, you don't play a lot of games, so I just thought I'd remind you that even though game overs are frustrating and they make you want to give up, you can always try again. Beat the game, Mello."  
"It's not that simple," he argued, because he didn't feel like lying anymore, because Matt deserved the truth, "Life isn't a video game, Matt. If you're dead, you're dead."

A moment of silence, and then, "You're not dead though, are you, Mels?"

The line went dead, but Mello didn't get up.  
He just sat there, contemplating.  
And when the nurse came to inform him his time was up, he clung to her for dear life. He screamed at top of his lungs that he wanted to get better.

She hugged him, patting his head affectionately and for the first time he understood how she did fit in there.  
She told him to call her Christine and said he was going to get better, he was going to be fine.  
Her words were almost impossible to believe, except not once did she say it was going to be easy.

* * *

Mello's throat was itching - he was disgusting, weak, fat, isolated, useless, empty. But he wasn't dead.  
And he was gonna try again. He was gonna beat the game.  
Mello looked up at his therapist, and it felt like he was seeing the middle-aged man for the first time. He took in the calmness of his voice and gestures that opposed Mello's nervousness and instantly felt more comfortable on his armchair.

The room was decorated in dark colors that gave it an intimate air. They were seated not too far away, but not close enough to make Mello feel intimidated.  
He looked down at his feet once more and said what, at that moment, seemed like the hardest phrase he'd ever say.  
"I haven't been honest with you, Dr. Tash."

Part of him expected the man's composure to break, pictured him getting up and yelling at Mello for being such a piece of crap and wasting everyone's time.  
Relief washed over Mello when Tash smiled fondly instead and said in his warm friendly voice, "I'm glad you've decided to give me a try, Mello."  
"Yeah," he nodded, although it felt more like he was giving _himself_ a try.  
"Well, then," he switched to his therapist voice, which was still warm but had a professional hint to it, "Are you ready to tell me why you're here?"

"I'm sure you already know."  
"It would be good to hear it from you. I want to know how you view things. Is that ok, Mello?"  
Mello thought about it for a second, then sighed and once again nodded. He'd have to face it at some point, so he might as well do it now.

**A/N: **Nyan~  
I decided to bring _Craig_ over for today's A/N. And not **Lolly**.  
_I kind of understand why you thought of me... _**Lolly**_'s not gonna take it that lightly though, don't you think?  
_Well, she's forgotten all about me and has been spending all her time with _**C **_so I'm sure she won't even notice.  
_I see. So that's what this is about.  
_Hm? Well, anyways, kids - _who are you calling kids? _- don't ever neglect one friend in favor of another!  
_I really don't think it qualifies as neglect. And please don't drag me in next time._  
Sure, sure.  
Tell me if you liked it at all?


	7. I'm Not Giving Up

"Well, I...," he trailed off, fully contemplating his actions for the first time.  
"Yes, Mello?" Dr. Tash's voice brought him back to reality.  
Mello blinked.  
"I'm here because I collapsed in class."  
He looked up as if waiting for approval, but Tash simply motioned for him to continue.

"The doctors said I collapsed due to low blood sugar," he couldn't look directly at the man at this point, instead keeping his eyes on the hand that fiddled with the hem of his shirt, "But for some reason they decided to do a complete check up, and they found out that I'm...," he trailed off again, finding he wasn't ready to say _the_ word just yet.

Dr. Trash silently, patiently waited.  
Mello took a deep breath.  
His words seemed to mingle together as he said, "I have a problem with food."

That didn't sound right. No, something was wrong. He was pretty sure the room was spinning, and he knew his heart wasn't supposed to be pounding at a time like this.  
He didn't know where the pressure in his head was coming from, but it was painful, almost unbearable. His throat was itching.

"What's your problem with food, Mello?"  
And everything stopped when he was brought back to reality again. He looked at Dr. Tash, dumbstruck, like he had been unexpectedly saved.  
"I... What?"  
Mello looked around in confusion, taking in the lack of personality of the room. Lastly, his eyes rested upon the smiling man's face, and he was filled with an odd sense of security.

"This can't be happening," he said almost defiantly, "It's too surreal."  
"I can understand your feelings, Mello, but I assure you it's real. We're both here, just the two of us. It's ok to speak your mind."  
Mello wanted to tell him he always spoke his mind, but he realised that was not true anymore.  
He shook his head, chuckling bitterly, "How can you _say_ you understand my feelings?," he asked angrily, his tone demanding an answer.

And Dr. Tash was only too glad to give him one.  
"I was once the one sitting on that chair," he said, fond smile never faltering.

Mello couldn't stop staring at him after that, too many thoughts spinning around in his head, making it impossible for him to figure out what to say or how to react.  
But Tash checked his wrist-clock then, and informed Mello their time was up.  
Mello wondered how much time he had wasted hesitating, panicking and staring, and his stomach sunk with guilt.

"I'll see you next week, Mello," Tash said just as Mello was about to leave, hand on the knob, "And remember, it's ok to take your time, Mello. Just don't give up."  
Something about Tash's warm voice - or maybe it was his fond smile, or the way he repeated Mello's name every now and again, or the way his words reminded Mello of Matt and Near, making him slightly homesick, or maybe it was everything from the fact that he truly understood his feelings to the way he had implied he'd wait until Mello was ready - eased all the bad feelings, and Mello honestly smiled for what felt like the first time in his life.

* * *

The days until his next session of individual therapy passed almost uneventfully - Matt called again once to announce he was proud of him and couldn't wait to see him again, and that one call made Mello feel fuzzy and strangely warm, earning him playful teasing from Christine, but that was it.  
He had a lot of free time and spent many hours staring at the ceiling and thinking about Dr. Tash's question, but was unable to reach an answer.

"Food makes you fat," he said hesitantly when asked for the second time, feeling he had to offer some sort of answer.  
"Do you want to be fat, Mello?"  
"_No_," he was quick to reply, "Do you think I'm fat? It's- I'm sorry- I've been trying to get out of here, that's why- I'm not usually this fat," the words left his mouth so quickly he barely had time to breathe and for a moment, it felt like he'd go on for hours, trying to justify his weight. _He knew he shouldn't have eaten that morning_.

Tash gestured for him to hush, and he did.  
He had something to say, and Mello wanted to hear, wanted to listen. He wanted to understand what was happening to him, and he knew Tash did.  
"It's ok, Mello," was all he said.

But that was enough for Mello to start crying, covering his face with his hands.  
"It's not ok," he said in between sobs, "I know what I'm doing to myself, but I can't stop."  
"What _are_ you doing, Mello? Can you say it to me?," Tash's therapist voice was exactly what he needed to hear at that moment, and Mello felt ready.

"I make myself throw up," he confessed, "It's not even about food anymore - actually, I don't think it ever was. I just convinced myself everything would be fine if I lost some weight, but I couldn't- couldn't stop eating chocolate and then..."  
Mello stopped. He felt stupid. Dr. Tash probably knew all those things, even if he himself was just figuring it all out.

"What would be fine if you lost weight, Mello? What are you really punishing yourself for?," he asked suddenly, firmly, and Mello nearly choked.  
"That's... I..." he stuttered, taking a moment to decide he _was_ doing this, he _would_ open up to Dr. Tash, because that's all he could do.  
"I'm all wrong. Nothing I ever do is right, because... I like...," he closed his eyes, "I like boys."

Mello sighed. It had never felt so real, because he had never said it aloud. And now his secret was exposed to a stranger, someone who had no reason whatsoever to try and understand him.  
He opened his eyes after a while, and looked up, part of him afraid he'd see disgust in the man's features.

But all he found was that same fond smile.

**A/N: **Tell me if you liked it at all?


	8. I'm Scared

Mello had never thought he'd someday be put in that position where he had to tell someone about his past.  
But Tash, who seemed to instinctively know exactly where the borders of their fragile new-formed friendship met their doctor-patient relationship, felt like the appropriate person to listen to Mello's story.

First, Tash asked if Mello had ever told anyone before.  
Mello shook his head no.  
"I wanted to tell Matt, because he told me all about his past, and about his father" he confessed, "But he's been through so much, and still he's the kinda person that lightens up a room just by walking in."

Mello bit his tongue. He didn't want Dr. Tash to know about his feelings for the redhead just yet.  
"That is... Hm, my problems seemed so... Minor," he said, testing the word.  
"Did Matt's issues seem deeper than yours, Mello?," Tash asked, once again pulling Mello from his own little world.

Mello considered it for a moment before answering, "It didn't feel like I _had_ any issues at all," he concluded, "So I just told him that my parents died in a fire when I was very young, and that _is_ true, so I never felt guilty."  
"Do you feel guilty now, Mello?"

"Sometimes," he said, though it sounded more like a question, "Back then, I didn't think it was so important, but now I want him to know."  
Mello's words were slowly losing the tone of hesitance, and his hands sat quietly on his lap. He vaguely noted talking was becoming easier and easier, and it was more natural for him to look up at Tash now.  
"Whenever you're ready," Tash told him, "No pressure."

Mello closed his eyes and breathed in, and _thought_. And when he was ready, he opened his eyes and breathed out, "Well..."

* * *

In the weeks that followed his final decision to give recovery a shot, Mello had become quite popular.  
No longer known as the boy with dead eyes, Mello was playfully referred to as Christine's long lost son, and whilst not being similar in any sense of the word, it was easy to see how the other nurses had gotten that idea.

The two interacted in such a manner that it was obvious they held special affection for one another.  
Of course, the staff members knew that Mello was an orphan, and one of them once asked him if he wasn't bothered by the nickname.  
"Not at all," he assured them, "I don't really remember my mother, but I hope she was just like Christine."

"And if I could have a child of my own," Christine started, drawing the attention of everyone in the room to her, "I'd like them to be just like _you_, Mello."  
The sincerity in her voice brought a light blush to his cheeks and gave him a warm sense of pride.  
"Thank you," he muttered, and she only smiled in return.

The doors opened widely and suddenly to reveal an out of breath Sara - she was the place's eyes and ears, and it's main source of gossip.  
Everyone automatically turned to her.  
"New girl?," Mello asked.

"No," she breathed.  
"Boy?," a girl sitting at a table in the right corner of the cafeteria suggested.  
The cacophonic whispering following that gave Sara time to recover her breath.  
"Everyone, please quiet down," she said authoritatively.

Once the room was silent enough to please her, she gestured to Mello, "You have visitors," she announced.

* * *

Mello had to admit, Matt, Near and L made one weird trio.  
But that wasn't the most important thing, currently.  
"What are you doing here?"

L pointed a thumb to himself, staring at Mello questioningly.  
"All of you," he clarified.  
"Visiting," Near replied, "I believe Mello's been already told that."

"Well, yeah," he rolled his eyes, "But _why_, specifically?"  
"To see how you're doing," L said plainly.  
"I thought you'd be happy to see me!," Matt cried.  
"And I am, but it's just so sudden," Mello noticed L was still staring at him, "What's going on?," he inquired.

L took his time to answer, chewing on his thumbnail like they had all the time in the world.  
"I think we should talk in private, Mello," he said at last.  
Straight to the point, Mello thought.

A part of him wanted to make bad use of his bathroom privileges, and another wanted to run to Tash. But all he could do was nod and gulp and follow L upstairs.

**A/N: **This week's chapter is specially short, and next week's will be considerably longer, and oh so filled with drama~!  
And then... Well, this story's coming to an end... I have to admit, I'm looking forward to writing the sequel :3  
Tell me if you liked it at all?


	9. I'm Strong

"Why are you here?," Mello asked as soon as the door was closed.  
"I believe the reason for our visit is already established," it was a long moment before he noticed the way Mello was looking at him, "I see," he said unceremoniously, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had formed, "_Now_ you're asking me, correct?"

Mello nodded, and L sighed, uneasily shifting his weight. He gestured for Mello to sit down on the bed.  
"I'm worried," he admitted.  
Mello's expression made it clear that wasn't the answer he was expecting.  
"Worried?," he inquired, almost doubtful.

"Yes," he replied simply.  
"Ok," Mello blinked, "Why are you worried?," he knew it was somewhat of a silly question, but this was _L_, and L didn't worry, especially not about him. At least that's what he thought up until now - but here was the detective, in person, telling him the opposite.

L's eyes wandered towards the door, and for a second Mello thought he'd leave without answering.  
But then he sat down - if you can even call it that - at the edge of the bed, not facing Mello and, from the noises he was making, chewing on his thumbnail again.  
"You know about B," it didn't sound like a question, but Mello confirmed nonetheless, "Before him, there was A," he said, "A killed himself, because... Of the pressure..."

L's voice didn't sound any different, but there was a certain hesitance in his words. Something was up, and Mello didn't like it. He moved to stand up in front of L, making the man look at him with curious wide eyes.  
But he said nothing and for a while they just stared at each other.  
"Are you here because of me, Mello?," L once again broke the silence, now using both his hands to help support his weight.

"That guy A, I'm sure he had his own problems you never knew of," he said quickly, " And I... I'm bulimic," Mello continued, although he didn't feel like that was an appropriate answer, barely noting it was the first time he used _the_ word, "I want to get better," the words sounded firmer now than they ever did in his mind, "That's why I'm here," he added, "And I'll be fine, so don't worry."

L smiled, "I see."

But his voice sounded distant, and Mello couldn't decide if that was normal or worrying.  
How could Mello's almost desperate attempt to make the man feel better have so easily convinced him? It most likely hadn't. Maybe L didn't think he was worthy of an actual argument. Maybe he was sent here out of guilt - that could explain L's visit as well. He just wanted to ease his guilt...

L's eyes didn't look guilty though. They never did.

"You have conviction, Mello," L stated, standing near the doorway, "You believe your very last word. That makes people want to believe it as well."  
"Even you."  
Mello was once again sitting on the bed, now staring at his feet in wonder. But he quickly looked up when L replied, "Even me."  
"Are you sure?," he asked, "Don't you just want to believe that?"

L was smiling again. He bought his thumb up to his mouth, "Perhaps," he said as he turned to take his leave, leaving the door wide open and disappearing in the hallways.  
And there stood Near, unmistakably staring at Mello. He appeared slightly startled upon being caught. Mello thought that look of startlement didn't suit him, but as soon as it was replaced with Near's usual stoic expression, Mello felt as though something was missing.

"What is it?," he had intended to sound angry, but it came out as curious, even a little tired.  
Near stepped in and closed the door behind himself, not offering any kind of answer.  
Mello sighed at this, "Is there anything you want?"

"Yes," Near replied firmly.  
Mello rolled his eyes, "_What_ do you want, Near?"  
The white-haired boy took a step back, pressing himself against the closed door, eyes wandering, almost like he was searching for something. At last, they landed on Mello.  
"I was there that night," he started, "In the library. I've known Mello's secret for a long time."

"You have?," Mello inquired, voice wavering.  
Near nodded shortly, "I've been observing Mello's erratic behaviour since then, but I didn't know how to confront Mello," _that's why I never did_, "So I called L instead. And I told the doctors, as well. I'm sorry."

But Mello didn't say anything - he couldn't, because he had hated Near with such passion that it became a part of his identity at Wammy's. And yet, he now knew he wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for that boy. In fact, he could have fallen deeper into his eating disorder - so deep it would become as much a part of his identity as his hatred for Near, perhaps even more.

They were far away from Wammy's though, and hating Near was not a part of who he was _here_.  
Mello looked up at the boy, and he seemed physically exhausted, leaning heavily on the door. Mello himself felt like he had been punched in the gut, and he realised he didn't want to deal with any of that now, possibly not ever.  
"Move," he ordered, not too surprised when Near complied.

Their eyes met briefly. Near knew where he was going, Mello could tell.  
It could have been his imagination, but Mello heard Near mutter another apology.

* * *

Water. Mello had downed glass upon glass of water, until it hurt.  
His vision was blurry and his step unsteady. He was thankful that only those who didn't know him very well were around. If Christine had seen him in that state, she'd know what was going on.  
Mello didn't want her to be disappointed, more so than he didn't want to get caught.

Out of everyone's sight, he slipped into a small, unsupervised bathroom. There were no locks. He considered going back.  
Near's tired figure and apologetic eyes came to his mind.  
Mello knelt down before the toilet bowl, almost like a servants would greet their masters.

His head was a mess, dreams and memories indistinguishably mixed together to the point where he questioned his very being.  
What was he even _doing_?, he inquired himself forcefully, the words resonating in his mind like something from another life. Yet, it felt like it had been just yesterday when Mello found himself in that exact same situation, searching his mind for an answer.  
Except this time, he did have one - this time, he knew better than to allow himself to enjoy it _just this once_.

Abruptly ceasing his motions, Mello stood up hurriedly, face flushed with both guilt and pride.  
His vision was blurrier than before, his throat burning no less than it had the other times - or perhaps he had forgotten what it felt like?... As much as the idea seemed absurd to him, he couldn't help but notice today was the first time in God knew how long that he had craved that familiar burning pain.

Mello's hands were shaking when he flushed the toilet, and his whole body was shaking while he walked out.

**A/N: **Well... I'm very sorry it took so long. I'll try not to let it happen again. We'll be done with the most dramatic bits by chapter 11, probably.  
Now, originally, the chapter didn't end here, so I'm a bit insecure about that... Tell me if you liked it at all?


End file.
